


The Grand Tourney

by FromOrzammarWithLove



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Ansburg, Arvaarad - Freeform, Free Marches (Dragon Age), Grand Tourney, Multi, Qunari, Saarebas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 20:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14269062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromOrzammarWithLove/pseuds/FromOrzammarWithLove
Summary: The year is 9:42 Dragon. In the wake of the mage-templar war finally ending and Corypheus’ defeat at Haven, the Free Marches finally host another Grand Tourney in Tantervale. For two weeks the city-state to the west of the Free Marches will play host to the entire array of Thedosian culture. Anyone who means anything – or strives for it – will attend. But the hard bought peace can fall just as quickly as it was formed, and the Tourney is also host to more sinister forces.A story about love and lust, ambition and greed, politics and intrigue – all set around and within the largest tourney in Thedas. A story told through the lenses of a large array of original characters, where the canon characters take a backseat, only appearing in cameos.





	1. Dramatis Personae

**Author's Note:**

> As the story progresses, the list of characters will be updated.

Ansburg:

.Lady Thalia Aurum, 79, Margravine of Ansburg  
..Her daughter Eana Aurum, deceased, former Senior Enchanter of the Circle of Magi in Ansburg, killed during the mage-templar war in 9:37 Dragon  
....Her daughter Thalia, 33, former Knight-Corporal of the Templar Order of the chantry in Ansburg, current fate unknown  
..Her son Earon Aurum, 54, Lord Heir of Ansburg  
....His wife Naia Aurum (née Threnhold), deceased, died of a fever in 9:27 Dragon  
....His daughter Olina Aurum, 22, Heir of Lord Earon  
....His son Vigowe Aurum, 17, Squire of Ansburg  
..Her son Teagor Aurum, 46, tranquil mage of the Circle of Magi in Ansburg, current fate unknown  
..Her daughter Olina Aurum, deceased, died after contracting the taint in 9:02 Dragon

.Andariel, 54, elven servant of house Aurum, childhood friend of Lord Earon and handmaid of Lady Olina  
..Her daughter Shevenna, 36, half-elven former apostate, joined Dalish clan Alerion in Nevarra  
..Her son Selven, deceased, half-elven mage of the Circle of Magi in Kirkwall, murdered by Ser Otto Alrik in 9:34 Dragon  
..Her daughter Elinya, 26, half-elven mage of the Circle of Magi in Ansburg, current fate unknown  
..Her daughter Veyara, 17, half-elven mage apprentice of the Circle of Magi in Ansburg, current fate unknown  
..Her son Earon, 10, a sickly half-elven stableboy

.Sir Markel Erwood, 32, sworn knight to Margravine Thalia Aurum and guard-captain of Ansburg  
..His husband Cillian Arino, 44, nobleman from Antiva  
....His niece Ellario Arino, 19, lady in waiting at the court of Ansburg

 

Tal-Vashoth:

.Ataash, 27, a former Saarebas  
..Her former Arvaarad, 35, doesn’t want to be here

.Bradis Drasdin, 29, a lyrium smuggler for the dwarven Carta


	2. The unwilling bride

Dawn crept over Ansburg on silent wings of a soft summer’s breeze, yet the Margravine’s granddaughter shivered, as she sat atop the balustrade just outside her chamber window and stared down into the harbour. The cool wind stung in Olina’s swollen eyes, and she knew they were probably awfully red by then. Though the tears had ceased hours ago, she had refused to go to bed. Instead she had climbed out of her window and up onto the balustrade and sobbed her sorrow out into the night. The hours on the cold stone had made her limbs go cold, but she hadn’t minded. Eventually she had rested her back against the roof and dozed off, though actual sleep had not found her. And now the accursed day was already dawning. The girl sighed one last time and made her way back through the window, into her chamber, where she closed the shutters and flung herself into the lavish Orlesian silk of her bed. Yet sleep still did not find her.

There was a knock on the door, firm and loud. From the sound she already knew who stood on the other side of her chamber, before she heard the familiar voice of Andariel call out: “Lady Olina! My Lady, are you awake?”. Stubbornness and wounded pride sealed Olina’s lips and she crept further under the covers. 

“Lady Olina!”, Andariel called again and shortly after that, Olina heard her chamber door fling open and the soft steps of the elven woman’s slippers stride towards the bed. A heartbeat later she felt the handmaid’s hand shaking her shoulder through the covers.

“My Lady, please wake up. The Lady Margravine wishes to break her fast with you this morning, as do the Lords Aurum”. Olina knew it was futile to pretend further to be asleep, therefore she sullenly crept out from under her sheets. 

Andariel was a plump elvish woman with grey streaks in her long, dark braid, deep wrinkles in the corners of her eyes and an oil lamp in her hand. Her green eyes were warm and soothing, but Olina knew it was pointless to argue with her or attempt to hide her sorry state. 

“Creators, look at you!”, Andariel said, aghast, holding her tiny flame closer to the girl’s face. “You look pale as a corpse, my Lady. That shan’t do. The Margravine expects you in finery”.  
Olina scoffed. “She expects a great deal of things, lately, the old hag. But she doesn’t care much to grant anything in return. I don’t wish to break my fast this morning. Food will only make me sicker”. The elf furrowed her brows at the insult, but at least she didn’t scold her. “I’m afraid the Lady Margravine insists on your attendance. It is not my place to question her… or her orders.” And with that Andariel strode towards Olina’s window and threw open the shutters. “Now, let us get you dressed, my Lady, shall we?”. 

 

There was a small feast at the grand table, and every seat save one was already occupied, as Olina entered the great hall. The Margravine sat atop a cushioned chair at the head of the table and fought a tiny battle against her shaking hands to bring a spoon of chopped dates into her mouth. She didn’t look up, as Olina entered. On the other end of the table sat her Lord father, the Lord heir of Ansburg, Earon Aurum. For a change he had ditched the simple brown garment he usually wore and had instead donned the bright red riding doublet with Ansburg’s coat of arms emblazoned on his chest. He was clean shaven as usual, but he had his thin hair cut back to chin length, exposing the ugly port wine stain on his neck. Altogether he looked unusually ceremonial. When his pale eyes found hers, Olina could tell he was slightly uncomfortable. “Olina”, he addressed her with an ever so slight nod of his head. It was as much of a greeting as it was an unspoken warning. To behave. Not to make a scene.  
While Lord Earon seemed out of place in finery, his son Vigowe seemed all the more comfortable in the pompous doublet his grandmother had commissioned for him a couple of fortnights ago. Olina’s younger brother was the only one of the Margravine’s grandchildren to inherent her flaming red hair and he looked more like a lord than his own father, despite only being seated on the side of the grand table. A grin played across his lips, as he saw the sorry state his sister was in, but since his mouth was full of cured meat, he refrained from japing at her cost. He had not been forced to shave the stubble from his chin and looked the part of a dashing rogue, as well as a nobleman. He had worked hard to achieve that look in time for the tourney, though he would never admit it. But Olina knew. Olina could tell everything about her baby brother. Wordlessly she took the empty chair and reached for a slice of rye bread.

“If you think that’s best, then see to it. Do what must be done, Sir Markel. I shall not have my plans crossed by some folly”, the Margravine was saying to the man sitting to Olina’s right. Sir Markel was the captain of the guards. Stoic and blunt, but loyal to the bone. Olina had deemed him boring a long time ago. She ripped a small piece from the slice of bread, brought it up to her mouth, then threw it back down onto the plate.

“Eat, girl. You’ll feel better for it”, croaked the Margravine. She was draped in a lavish gown of turquoise silk with intricate gold and pearl embroidery. Large emeralds hung from her ears and a chain made of tiny golden flames adorned her neck. Her bulging feet were dressed in soft slippers, the only thing she let touch her gout-inflamed soles. Her skin was wrinkled and blotchy and had a colour like vellum and her teeth were dark yellow. When she sat down it looked as if she had a great hump upon her back and her lanky fingers never stopped twitching and shaking. Margravine Thalia Aurum of Ansburg had seen 79 years and was older than any other person Olina had ever met. Despite all of this there was an air of authority about her and whenever she spoke the room fell silent. There was no mistake as to who the Lady of the house was.

Olina shoved the piece of bread into her mouth and started chewing sullenly. “You look like you’ve spent the night entirely awake.”, the Margravine said as she observed her granddaughter.  
“I couldn’t sleep”, Olina answered truthfully.

“It was cruel of your father to get your hopes up about the tourney”, the Margravine said with a side-glance towards Lord Earon.

“It was crueller still to decide her fate behind her own back”, he answered, glaring at his mother with his pale eyes. “Selling her to Starkhaven like a shipment of spices”. 

“Prince Sebastian Vael is almost of an age with her. And he is known to be just, kind and godly. He will make a good match”.

“Just and kind? He tried to annex Kirkwall less than a year ago! And he is ten years her elder”, Lord Earon spat back.

“Ten years are nothing in the Maker’s Eyes, child. You should know that. This betrothal will secure the strongest alliance Ansburg has ever had, should Prince Sebastian accept, of course. Maker, I hate it when you make me spell everything out”, the Margravine answered.

 

“Let me compete in the Tourney, father. I can win it, you know I can”, Olina had said the evening before. She had pleaded and reasoned, then she had screamed and cried, but her dear Lord Father hadn’t budged. The Margravine had demanded this betrothal and nothing Olina or her father did would change this. Therefore, she simply sighed and forced bread down her throat.  
“Maybe you should visit the summer retreat for a couple of days”, Sir Markel suggested. “To help keep your head”. He smiled at her and Olina almost felt better. He had been the only one to attempt to comfort her.

“What a foolish notion, Sir Markel. As if the girl isn’t needed elsewhere.”, the Margravine said. “Apologies, my Lady”, the guard-captain answered, lowering his head. 

“Actually, mother, I think a few days at the summer retreat would be excellent for Olina”, Lord Earon interjected, then he turned around and actually looked at his daughter for the first time that day. “Why don’t you take Andariel and some of your friends with you? We’re headed down the Minanter river anyways. Take a week or two for yourself. And when you return, it’ll be only a couple of days until we shall be back as well. We can discuss your future then. How does that sound?”. As he talked to her, her father’s gaze softened slightly. 

Margravine Thalia groaned audibly and sighed. “Very well. Take the knife-ear and your little friends and head out with the others”. Olina could see her father’s expression darken once more and his thin brows furrow in silent dissent. He had known Andariel since they were children. From what Olina knew, they had grown up together. He hated it, when the Margravine treated Andariel badly, as did Olina. But both of them knew better than to provoke the Margravine. 

“That settles it, then”, Lord Earon said. “Be ready within the hour. We shall depart shortly”.

 

Olina couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps there was still a chance to attend the Grand Tourney, afterall.


	3. The wayward Qunari

The Arvaarad awoke to the taste of sand and saltwater. He lay facedown on the sandy shore, tiny waves washing around his body. As he came to his senses he realized that he felt thirsty and tired and his entire body ached horribly. When he tried remembering what had happened after he had jumped into the water, there was nothing. How much time had passed? Where was he?

He had lost his helmet and the control leash for the Saarebas, but he was alive. At least there was that. 

He tried getting up, but his body didn't budge. He was exhausted. “Parshaara”, he grumbled and immedietly regretted cursing, as it filled his mouth with even more sand and ocean water. 

“You know, I never thought watching you be the one struggling would be quite as nice as it is”, he heard a familiar voice in front of him. It took him considerable effort to move his head so that he could look at the Saarebas. She had taken off her mask and chain, as well as most of the cumbersome metal elements of the Saarebas’ garb, including the heavy pauldrons that marked her as Saarebas. Her white hair was still wet and she looked just as tired as he was.

The Arvaarad struggled to his feet, alert, ready to fight any demonic evil. At that the Saarebas only rolled her eyes. “You can stop with the Arvaarad business, we’re far from home and the leash is gone. You have no more power over me”, she said plainly.

It had been a while since he had last heard her speak, he realized. “I don’t desire power over you. It is my duty to protect you and others from the evil within you. We’ve separated from our Karataam. You know what that means. For both of us”. The realisation hit him harder than anticipated. Was this it? Did he really have to die now?

“Only if we go back. As far as the Karataam knows, we’ve drowned at sea. We can start anew here. Even you”, the Saarebas replied.

“That would be against the Qun”.

“Then so be it. The Qun has brought me nothing but pain. And I know it hasn’t exactly treated you well, either”.

A faint memory of re-education danced around in the Arvaarad’s mind and he fought the urge to shiver. He sighed. She was right. If he was honest, she had always been right.

“So what do we do now? Become savage? Go on a rampage? Let demons and other evil flood into this world?”, he asked, looking up at her.

“Or we could just see what’s behind these dunes”, she gave back.

And so they walked across the shore and into the great unknown.


End file.
